


the sky and the sand and the sea

by skatzaa



Category: The Scorpio Races - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Happy Ending, Minor Character Death, Multi, OT3, Threesome - F/M/M, Tommy Falk Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 08:08:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19826017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/pseuds/skatzaa
Summary: It starts, as it often does on Thisby, with a horse, and a boy.*Or: Sean may have one foot in the sea, and Puck may have her head in the clouds, but Brian is steady enough to ground them both.





	the sky and the sand and the sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YourPalYourBuddy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourPalYourBuddy/gifts).



> I started writing this a year and a half ago for Syd, and I'm just now getting around to finishing it. If the last few scenes seem to differ in tone or style from the rest of it, that's probably why.
> 
> Y'all knew this was coming one day. I love the Kendricks with all my heart, but I just might love Brian Carroll more.
> 
> This isn't really beta read; if you notice any issues, feel free to let me know either here or on tumblr!

PUCK

It starts, as it often does on Thisby, with a horse, and a boy.

*

“Watch out!” Brian Carroll cries out, and he’s the only reason Dove and I manage to get out of the way of the runaway car in time.

When I’m reasonably certain the danger has passed, I move Dove back toward the road so I can seek Brian Carroll out.

He’s standing by the door to the Black-Eyed Girl with another young man. They both have dark hair, but that is where the similarities end—while Brian is tall and square and steady like the island, his companion is lean and razor sharp. He looks as though he would slip through my fingers like grains of sand if I tried to hold him.

“Puck,” Brian says in greeting, as though he had not just shouted at me. He nods to the man at his shoulder. “Do you know Sean Kendrick?”

I don’t, but I half feel as though I ought to, with how comfortable his name is on Brian’s tongue. It’s disconcerting, that misplaced familiarity, because I had previously thought I knew—or at least knew  _ of _ —everybody on this island.

“No,” I say, sticking out my hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Kate Connolly.”

Sean Kendrick takes my hand and somehow manages to make the gesture seem dismissive, which perhaps has something to do with how quickly he looks at me, and then Dove, and then seems to disregard us entirely.

That is the precise moment in which I decide that I do not like Sean Kendrick.

*

Sean’s  _ capall _ is as large as a house and the color of dried blood. His eyes are slits when he looks at me, and I decide I do not like him either.

And yet we still end up racing together along the clifftop, Sean on Corr and me on Dove. I can’t say I’m entirely certain how we ended up here. Brian Carroll watches over us carefully as the rising sun paints the world in watercolor hues. He is just off the boat after a long night of fishing, and he keeps yawning when he thinks we won’t notice.

I notice, and I do not doubt that Sean does too.

But it is for Brian’s sake that I remain civil as Sean and his stallion beat us in each race by increasingly embarrassing distances. Corr should be  _ tiring, _ as Dove is, but he’s not. My attempt at civility is marginally helped by the fact that Sean does not treat me like I am just a girl on an island pony.

I still don’t like him.

*

Finn insists on accompanying me to the riders’ parade, and so he is present when Sean speaks for me as I stand on the blood rock. Brian waits, steady as the island, by Sean’s shoulder as though he has never been anywhere else. I am reminded of the first time I met Sean and then, shockingly, that we only met a week ago, though it feels like much longer. 

I feel a fierce pang in my chest at the sight of them, and I am still watching them when Peg slices my finger and I give my name. They each look back, firelight in Sean’s gaze and the sea in Brian’s. It feels as though I have swallowed the sky. I realize, perhaps too late, that Finn is still just a few steps away.

Too late for what, though, I’m not sure.

*

It’s luck, probably, that Brian finds me and the men and their  _ capaill _ on the cliffs the day after the festival. He doesn’t even stop long enough to find out what is going on, just gets between me and them and plants himself there, his arms crossed over his chest and his shoulders deceptively relaxed.

It’s so, so dangerous for him to expose himself to the  _ capaill _ like that, but Brian doesn’t even bat an eyelash until Tommy Falk and his friends back away.

Once they’re gone, Brian helps me down from Dove and doesn’t comment on the fact that both Dove and I are trembling. As always, Brian is steady. He grips Dove’s reins in one hand and curls the other around the curve of my jaw, his skin startlingly warm against mine. He shushes me, and it is nothing like the way the sea whispers when she and I are alone. Brian, I know, is trustworthy. He keeps his hand on my jaw until I breathe evenly again and it is only then that he lets me go.

He was right to call me wild, I think, but there is something to say for the way his quiet dependableness comforts me.

The sky hangs above our heads, gray and heavy, and the sea claws its way up the cliffs to where we stand. Brian turns me away from her and leads us home, his fingers pressed into my side, acting as a tether then entire way. He sees Dove safely into her paddock and me safely into the house, where Finn waits, and then he glances at the sky. Brian frowns, his face even more solemn and square than usual, and says, “Sean will be busy at the yard, I expect, but I don’t like the look of those clouds.”

I am not entirely sure how those two statements are related, or how either affect me. But then Brian turns his solemn eyes in my direction, and I am surprised at the weight of his gaze.

“May I stay, Kate?” He asks, and now it is my name that sits familiar on his tongue. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but Jonathan will be safe on his own tonight and it doesn’t feel right, leaving you and your brother here alone.”

I want to be offended, that he doesn’t think Finn and I can’t take care of ourselves but Jonathan “Dough For Brains” Carroll somehow  _ can _ , but I am tired and shaking and worried sick for Dove. So I nod, moving out of the doorway so that he can step into the tiny yellow kitchen, where Finn is hunched over the sink and pretending not to listen. 

Brian stays and helps Finn wash dishes, and when I get too worried about leaving Dove to the mercies of the storm and the  _ capaill _ , he holds the flashlight while I lead her inside. Finn’s expression is distinctly frog-like when he walks out of his bedroom and sees Dove dripping water on the living room floor. It makes Brian laugh. I wonder what my parents would have thought, to see him here, made soft by the light from the fireplace.

That’s the last of the laughter, though. I don’t miss how often Brian glances out the north-facing window and I know, without asking, that he worries for Sean. 

I don’t want to admit it, but I’m worried too.

*

Sean isn’t on the cliffs the next morning. I try not to let it unsettle me, but in the end I can’t shake the feeling that something is very wrong. So instead of pulling myself onto Dove’s back, I go to find one of the sisters. Elizabeth isn’t particularly happy to be stuck watching Dove as well as their booth, but my promise to help her this afternoon is enough to placate her for now.

I can’t imagine, at first, where Sean Kendrick might be when he’s unexpectedly not training for the races. Rather than walking all the way to the Malvern stables, I decide to try the pier first, where I at least might be able to find Brian and ask if  _ he _ knows for sure where Sean is.

Brian’s boat is docked at the farthest pier—Brian’s boat specifically, because his family has done well enough for themselves to own two boats, one that Brian takes out with his cousins, and one that his father and uncle use. I stride down the pier, ignoring the comments thrown in my direction from the few fishermen sorting through their catches or cleaning fish. The smell alone is nearly enough to make me turn around, but then I see a dark head bowed over something on the boat I know belongs to Brian.

It’s Sean, bent over a net that needs repairing. His fingers deftly retie knots that have come undone and work in lengths of ropes to replace what’s been lost. At his side sits a handsome blond man who’s making an absolute mess of another net. There’s something to say about his enthusiasm, but I hope it’s not one of Brian’s all the same.

“Sean,” I say. He lifts his head and meets my gaze. There’s a tightness to the skin around his eyes that I’ve never seen before and his shoulders are rigid, despite the easy way his hands rest on the net. “What’s happened?”

Sean swallows and drops his eyes again. There’s a horrid feeling making itself at home in the pit of my stomach.

The blond man interjects, his American accent nearly overpowering in its intensity, “Ah, you must be Kate Connolly! I’ve heard plenty about you. My name is George Holly, it’s wonderful to meet you finally.”

It’s meant to catch Sean’s attention as much as mine, but it only succeeds with one of us. I glance at George Holly and his cheerful smile. 

“It’s nice to meet you too,” I tell him, though I can’t be sure if I mean it yet. “Sean, where’s Brian?”

“Ah,” George Holly says again. This time it’s much more reserved. “He went to go check something on the beach.”

“Mr. Malvern and I had a disagreement, so I resigned my job,” Sean says quietly. George Holly seems surprised that Sean has admitted such a thing, but my stomach sinks lower. Resigning means leaving Corr behind, and only in my worst nightmares can I imagine what that feels like. “Brian is–”

I hear a commotion behind me, and turn to see Brian himself come dashing down the length of the quay. He slows as he reaches the boat, but he doesn’t slow enough, so I end up bracing my hand against his chest and trying to keep the both of us from tipping over, my shoulder wedged between his side and arm.

“It’s Corr,” Brian gasps out. My whole body goes cold and then hot, as my initial shock gets buried beneath my anger as I realize what must be happening on the beach. “Mutt’s lost control of him.”

I look back over my shoulder and meet Sean’s gaze. He looks wild and afraid, and he stands without stopping to move the net out of his lap. It’s only thanks to George Holly’s quick thinking that he doesn’t get tangled in the rope.

“Stay here,” I say to Brian, pressing my hand more firmly into his chest. His pulse thunders against my fingertips. He doesn’t argue, because he’s too busy sucking in another breath. “I’ll go with Sean. Mr. Holly, please make sure Brian is okay.”

I don’t wait for George Holly’s response. I slip out from beneath Brian’s arm and pelt down the pier after Sean.

It takes far too long to reach the beach. There are people pushing their way up the cliff path, frantic and loud, and we have to elbow our way through the crowd in order to get to the sands. Immediately, I can see why everyone is fleeing.

Corr is loose on the beach, the dead bodies of two men at his hooves. We’re too far to know who they are, but I strongly suspect that one is the blocky corpse of Mutt Malvern.

I stop running but Sean doesn’t, sand spraying out behind him as he sprints across the beach to Corr. My heart in my throat, I watch Corr rear up and scream. He’s confused and afraid for it, torn between the sea and—something that makes him pivot toward the path. He rears again, eyes rolling as his head thrashes. I hope, desperately, that he doesn’t lunge toward the sea, both for Sean’s sake and Corr’s own: Mutt tried to weigh Corr down with an iron breastplate and what looks to be chainmail across his haunches. If he disappears into the ocean, I fear he’ll never escape the metal.

Sean reaches Corr and ducks beneath his hooves, not paying the dead men any attention. He reaches up and snags Corr’s bridal on the first attempt. It takes a long minute for Corr to calm enough for Sean to do anything; I have no doubt that Sean is whispering to him, but at this distance, I can’t hear what he says.

“Puck,” Sean calls back behind him. Corr still moves restlessly, his skin shivering beneath the iron. I step closer, and that’s when I realize the beach is mostly empty. Those who remain have given Sean and Corr and wide berth. I don’t want to be any nearer Corr than they do, but Sean needs my help.

I walk toward them and say, “Tell me what you need.”

*

Sean isn’t at the cliffs the next day, or the one after that. I haven’t seen him since he took Corr from my hands and led him back up the cliff path. Neither has Brian. Most worrying, the Skarmouth rumor mill is strangely silent on the topic of Sean Kendrick and the deaths of Matthew Malvern and David Prince.

For three days, Dove and I train alone on the clifftop. On the morning of the fourth day, I wake up to darkness. My body aches from sleeping twisted up all night and I stare up at the ceiling for a minute or four, identifying the spots that hurt the most. The worst of the pain is concentrated in my back and hip joints, and I can feel a headache building too, which means it’s probably my period. This makes me glower at nothing in particular. It seems unfair that I have to deal with things like periods and islanders who don’t want to let me race, while Finn’s biggest concern is how long he washes his hands.

It’s an unreasonable thought and I know it, so instead of wallowing I push myself up and start getting ready for the day. Without really thinking about it, I somehow come to the decision that I won’t go straight to the beach. Dove could use the break, I rationalize, and before I know it I find myself biking along the road that leads to the Malvern stables.

Even this early, Malvern’s staff is already busy taking care of the stables’ many horses. After letting myself in through the front gate, I flag down the nearest groom. He’s leading a beautiful dappled mare who’s seemingly all legs. I ask him, “Is Sean Kendrick here?”

The groom looks surprised that I’m talking to him and then, once he’s processed what I’ve said, seems even more surprised.

“You’re Kate Connolly,” he says unhelpfully.

“Yes,” I snap, annoyed. “Can you take me to Sean?”

The groom shakes his head and, behind him, the mare shakes out her mane. The symmetry might be funny, if I was in the mood to laugh.

“Fine,” I say. “I want you to take me to Benjamin Malvern.”

The groom blinks at me, clearly taken aback, but he doesn’t argue. He waves over another stable hand and hands him the mare’s lead line, telling the boy where to take her and what to do once they get there. 

It’s not far to the great house that Malvern must live in. The groom leaves me at the steps to the porch with a parting, curious glance, but I don’t pay him any attention. The bicycle gets deposited against the bannister and I march up the steps to knock my fist against the door.

My parents would have been disappointed if they had lived to see me here. Dad won’t have said anything, just frowned at me, but Mum would have had  _ words _ about my choice to demand answers from a grieving father.

A part of me—the part that only lost my parents a year ago— _ is _ appalled by what I’m doing, but the rest of me remembers the way Sean’s shoulders trembled as he tried to calm Corr. Mutt Malvern is dead, and I’m sorry for anyone to lose someone they love, but I’m not sorry that he won’t be able to torment Sean further.

The housekeeper opens the door and frowns at me, but she doesn’t try to stop me from coming in. I don’t recognize her, which means she’s probably from the mainland. I don’t know why you’d want to come to Thisby just to be the housekeeper of a rich man, but then again, I understand needing a job so desperately that you’d take pretty much anything.

“I’d like to speak to Benjamin Malvern,” I say as politely as I can manage. Belatedly, I add, “If he’s in.”

She informs me that he is in, and then deposits me in the foyer to wait. I look around but keep my hands to myself, because I’m fairly certain this is the most expensively decorated room I’ve ever been in, and I’m wearing my muck boots that are still covered in mud from feeding Dove this morning.

After several agonizingly long minutes, I hear a noise behind me. When I turn to look, I see Benjamin Malvern descending the grand staircase, his housekeeper only a step behind him, hovering fretfully. I can see why she does; Malvern looks as though he has aged a decade in the weeks since I last saw him, and it takes him a long time to reach the foyer.

“Mr. Malvern,” I say politely, holding out my hand. He takes it and we shake. His grip is still strong but there is no shrewd cunningness in his gaze when he meets my eye. 

“Miss Connolly,” he replies, and it’s more of a sigh than anything. “I presume you’re here about Mr. Kendrick.”

I’m taken aback—both because of his  _ presumption _ and because he’s right—but I do my best not to show it. I say, “Yes. Him and Corr.”

Malvern folds his hands behind his back and starts walking toward one of the closed doors. His housekeeper bustles ahead and opens it, and I can see it leads into an equally opulent sitting room.

“Would you like to join me for tea, Miss Connolly?” Malvern asks. The answer, of course, is not particularly, but I’ve already barged into his home while he mourns. I may as well act like a civilized person, even if it pains me to do so. I realize that, sometime between storming up to the house and this moment, I’ve lost my anger. 

“Yes, thank you,” I say. The slope of his shoulders makes him look defeated, but I’m hesitant to believe it, even after the loss of his son. This line of thought makes me think of Mutt Malvern’s dead body and blood pooling out in the sand. I shudder, and focus instead on seating myself in the plush armchair across from him. 

The housekeeper steps out for barely a moment before she’s back with a tray, upon which an ornate silver teapot and two teacups sit. The silver is perfectly cared for, and the sight of it makes me think sadly of the set Mum and Dad got as one of their wedding presents, which, last I saw, was tarnishing quietly in one of the corners of Fathom & Sons. It was one of the last things to be sold when money got really tight this past spring, because I couldn’t bear to be parted from something that had been so dear to Mum, but it was sold nonetheless.

“Thank you, Rosalyn,” Malvern says to her as she pours tea into both of the cups. Rosalyn nods and backs out of the room. I watch Malvern make his strange, extravagant tea. Once he’s finished mixing in the butter, I simply pick up the cup before me and drink my tea black.

Malvern turns his attention back to me. “So. You’re here about Mr. Kendrick.”

“Yes,” I say again. I take a sip of my tea in order to gather my thoughts. “He told me he had quit.”

“That’s still true,” Malvern says.

“I was wondering,” I say, drawing out my words in the same way Mum used to, when she was bartering at the pier with the other fishermen, “if you wouldn’t tell me where I could find him.”

Malvern’s face curls in on itself, as though he’s just smelled spoiled milk. It’s never a pleasant expression to witness directed at oneself, especially when it is coming from someone as powerful and important as Benjamin Malvern, but I just force myself to drink my tea and act like his displeasure has no effect on me.

“I believe, Miss Connolly, that he owns a small piece of land on the western rock,” Malvern says finally. He takes a sip of his strange tea and doesn’t flinch. I don’t know how he can turn even tea into a game, and yet he manages it. “You’ll come upon it if you take the road to Tholla.”

“And Corr?” I ask.

If his expression had been curdled milk before, now it is five times as bad. 

“I told Mr. Kendrick to take the stallion with him.” He sets his teacup down with enough force that it clinks loudly against its saucer. I have no doubt it cost Sean a pretty penny to buy Corr, even after the  _ capall _ was the cause of Mutt Malvern’s death, but still, to hear that they’re free loosens a knot in my chest I hadn’t known was there until this moment. 

I finish the last of my tea and place the cup gently back onto its saucer. Mr. Malvern doesn’t look at me when I stand. I say, “Thank you for your time, Mr. Malvern. I’m sorry for your loss.”

I see myself out of the house. Rosalyn the housekeeper is nowhere in sight, so I just close the door quietly behind me and take a deep, steadying breath of the hay-and-manure scented air. The sun is just rising over the hills in the east that separate the Malvern lands from the rest of the island, but it’s nice to feel like I’ve accomplished something so early in the day. I start down the steps only to stop on the top one.

George Holly, the blond American from the other day, is peering at my bicycle as though it contains all the secrets of the universe. When he notices me, he straightens up and wipes his hands on his concerningly light-colored pants, smiling enthusiastically all the while. 

“You’re Kate Connolly, right?” He says it like it’s not even a question. “I was hoping to run into you again. Have you seen Sean? Perhaps not, if you’re here visiting Benjamin Malvern.”

George Holly talks like he’s filled with words, and he’s worried he won’t have enough time to use all of them. I wonder if someone like Sean ever has to speak around him at all, or if Mr. Holly can hold a conversation on his own without any input from another person.

I offer my hand and he shakes it, just as enthusiastically as he appears to do everything else. It seems like it would be exhausting to be that cheerful all the time, but it works well enough for him, apparently.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Holly,” I say.

George Holly makes a face at that, like he’s been sucking on a particularly sour lemon, but he doesn’t comment on whatever I said that made him make the face in the first place. Instead, he says, “Do you know where he is? Sean, I mean?”

“Yes,” I say. There’s so much left to do today, and there’s only a week to the race, but for a moment, I close my eyes and tilt my head back. The island breeze tugs my hair from its ponytail and whips it across my face. When I look back at him, George Holly is peering at me like he had looked at my bicycle only a moment before. “I have a good idea where he is.”

*

Sean finds me on the cliffs before I get a chance to track down Brian and drag him across the island to Sean’s house. Corr isn’t with him, and I don’t know how I feel about that one way or another.

Dove finishes her short sprint and then I slow her to a walk and we turn back toward the cliff, where Sean waits. The wind tugs his hair from his face and his jacket collar is turned down, exposing the vulnerable lines of his neck.

“Kate,” he says softly, as soon as I’m within hearing range. He holds out a hand to Dove, who nuzzles his palm in search of treats. When she comes up empty, her ears flatten and she swings away from him, head held at a mulish angle.

Sean watches her, one eyebrow raised in faint amusement. I’m not sure when I became so well versed in Sean Kendrick’s expressions, but it feel dangerous in the same way that standing on the cliffs is dangerous, when you look down and realize there’s nothing to catch you should you fall.

I swing out of the saddle and pull Dove’s reins down over her nose, holding them loosely in my hand as I turn to face Sean. 

“I went to visit Malvern today,” I say. Sean’s eyes swing toward me the corner of his mouth tight. “Now that you have Corr, will you race?”

Sean hunches his shoulders up toward his ears, the most uncertain I’ve ever seen him. He says, “I thought we should discuss it—us and Brian.”

Oh. I like the sound of that  _ we _ , perhaps more than I should.

“Right,” I say, nodding firmly. The decisive mask is shattered when I have to nudge Dove to keep her from grazing with her bit still in. “Then I suppose we should go find Brian then, shouldn’t we?”

Nothing perceptible changes in Sean’s posture, and yet I can’t help but feel that I’ve passed some test he put before me without my knowing. He tilts his head. “I suppose so. Lead the way then, Kate.” Then, before I can correct him: “Puck.”

*

Three nights before race day, half the island descends on the house.

Or at least, that’s how it feels. Gabe and Tommy appear in the yard sometime in the late afternoon with a plucked chicken in tow. I’m happier to see the chicken than my brother or his friend, but I allow all three in the house for the sake of politeness. Finn stomps through the door less than an hour later, which is even more surprising than the appearance of our older brother, because I hadn’t know that Finn left the house in the first place. Both Brian and Jonathan Carroll trail in his wake, so I let them in too and take their coats.

Brian gives me a smile as Jonathan begins to pester Tommy with questions about his odds. It’s a nice smile so I offer one back that I find I actually mean.

I decide to make soup, because I fear the chicken won’t stretch enough to feed the lot of us otherwise. Tommy fiddles with the radio while Gabe seems to be telling Jonathan an outrageously false story from our childhood while Finn looks on, amused.

There’s a knock at the door.

I look up from my soup to find everyone staring at one another like great big idiots. Everyone, that is, except for Brian, who’s looking at the door like he knows what he would find on the other side.

Since none of the others seem interested in moving, I stride forward, wiping my hands on my pants as I go. Someone falls in behind me, and I’m not surprised to see that it’s Brian when I check over my shoulder.

Behind the door is Sean, one hand shoved in his jacket pocket and the other cradling a loaf of bread that I can smell, even from a length away. He looks up from his feet, first at me, and then Brian, and the openness in his expression doesn’t change in the slightest.

“I’ve brought bread,” he says, offering it up in case I have yet to notice it. His eyes dart to Brian’s again before I find myself under the full intensity of his stare. “Is that what’s done?”

With Brian warm and solid behind me, and Sean endearing in his uncertainty before me, I smile and take the bread. I feel as though I could win the races, just myself against forty men and  _ capaill uisce _ , on this feeling alone.

“Well, you’ve done it,” I say, and reach out to take his arm.

*

“There’s a squall coming in,” Sean says over dinner. He somehow ended up seated between Finn and Tommy. Brian, too, is sandwiched between his brother and mine, and that leaves me between Gabe and Jonathan Carroll. I can’t tell if this was intentional on Gabe’s part, or sheer bad luck on mine. 

Tommy perks up, frowning. “As bad as the last one?”

“No.” Sean breaks a piece off of his slice of bread and stares at it. “But it could get nasty, down on the beach. I would recommend avoiding it, if you’re unsure.”

Gabe and Tommy exchange a glance that hovers somewhere between disbelieving and bemused.

But none of us are on the beach the next day, though five men and four horses die.

_ Killing sands, _ Sean tells me, tucked away in my little yellow kitchen, Brian seated in Dad’s armchair across the room as he mends a sock or some other piece of clothing. Rain knocks persistently at the window, trying to find a way in and failing. I’m not sure how I ended up with both of them in the house, two days before the race when I should be preparing, but I find I don’t mind either way.

*

I can’t find Sean. I crane my head, trying to catch a glimpse of a red coat or blue jacket, but there’s only a roiling sea of mad horses and Dove, terrified and jumpy beneath me.

The poles lift.

We explode forward as part of the crowd. I have to save Dove’s strength until we find Sean and Corr, but I can’t let her stay here in this pack of bloodthirsty horses either.

I give her some rein and she surges forward, curving around my leg in order to escape the closest  _ capall _ as it draws up beside us. I look up and see Tommy, bent low over his beautiful, sleek mare. He sees me looking and winks.

They drop back.

Dove puts on another burst of speed, eating up the sand and she pulls away from the pack, now fighting amongst themselves somewhere behind us. And then there is Sean, Corr stretched out beneath him, his hooves seeming to hardly touch the ground at all.

He swings in from the left, hemming Dove and I closer to the sea, Corr a protective wall beside us. Just like we talked about with Brian—Brian, who is somewhere up there on the cliffs, maybe with my brothers or his or alone.

We hadn’t told Tommy the plan, but he winked at me. Reined Aoife in.

I press my heels to Dove’s sides, urging her forward. There’s no way to know just how far we’ve traveled, or how much of the race there is left. But I can see no more than four  _ capaill _ ahead of me, and Sean at my side.

Dove stretches out until we, too, are flying.

*

First place: Kate Connolly on Dove.

Second place: Sean Kendrick on Corr.

Third pla—

*

Brian finds us first. There’s sand all along one side and sand in his hair, like he tripped onto the beach and just kept coming. 

Officials have tried to take Corr’s reins from Sean’s hands and Dove’s from mine, but neither of us have relinquished them. There’s a scrape on Dove’s neck from teeth and an oblong circle on Corr’s rump from the same thing. Their ears rest flat against their heads and they cool down, their sides heaving.

I can’t put my weight fully on my left leg; at some point, maybe in the beginning before we broke free, something cut my leg, maybe teeth but more likely a knife. Sean has blood smeared across his forehead, and there’s no telling where it came from.

Brian skids to a stop in front of us, out of breath but smiling large enough to blot out the sun.

“You did it,” he says between gasps. He steps closer, careful not to disturb the horses, and brings his nad up to grip Sean’s shoulder tightly. Brian leans in and presses his forehead against mine. Sean’s hand on the back of my neck. My arm around Brian’s back, my shoulder bumping Sean’s. All of us sweaty, and exhausted, and so full of adrenaline that I hardly notice the rest.

_ We did it. _

It’s the best moment of my life. And that’s before Finn tells us what he won in the betting pool.

*

I walk down the pier to the spot where Brian’s boat is tied up. He’s there on the deck, rummaging through one of the supply hatches. He looks as though he’s trying to let the storage area eat him alive.

“I thought you were done for the day,” I call to him. 

Brian startles and nearly bashes his head on the edge of the hatch. He straightens and peers at me, then smiles when he realizes I’m not simply some random passerby who decided to pick on him.

“I was,” he says, “but then Caleb couldn’t find his ring, and I drew the short straw to look for it.”

More like he volunteered. Not that Caleb, Brian’s cousin, is getting out of the unpleasantness of the situation. Molly isn’t going to be happy when she hears he  _ misplaced it  _ again.

“Come on,” I tell him, holding out a hand. “Finn is getting hungry, and sent me to fetch you so we could start on supper.”

Brian closes the hatch and walks to a spot where he can lever himself over the hull. He drops heavily onto the quay beside me and reaches out to press a kiss on my forehead. It sends happy fondness rushing through me, and I place my hand on his back in reply.

“Where’s Sean?” he asks as we start toward town.

“I left him to guard dinner,” I say. “Finn was getting a bit too brave for my liking.”

He laughs and presses closer to my side as we walk. And when we arrive at my parents’ house, now mine and Finn’s, there is Corr in the pasture with Dove, nosing curiously through her hay. And there is Sean, hovering protectively over the roast with Finn just out of reach.

Brian kisses Sean on the forehead too, and ruffles Finn’s hair as I unearth a carving knife and handle it carefully to Sean. 

As much as it hurts to think about Gabe off somewhere on the mainland, it’s overshadowed by the joy of having Finn with me still, and Dove, and the house. And Brian and Sean are their own type of joy, one that I intend to hold onto for as long as possible. 

I watch Sean wrestle with the roast, Brian and Finn leaping to his rescue.

Even Thisby won’t begrudge me that happiness.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! The fandom is a little dead right now, but I'd love to get back in the swing of writing for tsr. To be honest, a comment would really go a long way in that department, even if it's just a short little "I loved it!"
> 
> Read on,  
> Skats


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